


Silk

by lee_donghyuck



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Praise Kink, Romance, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Swearing, Wall Sex, Wet Humping, affirmations, aggressively desperate grunty Haechan, ego-boosted Haechan is a delicacy, physically Dom!Haechan takes the reader against a wall after a performance, while inner Switch!Hyuck seeks assurance that he's desirable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lee_donghyuck/pseuds/lee_donghyuck
Summary: Tight jeans and silk adorn a masterpiece; on-stage a collected performer, off-stage a responsive and eager lover. As soon as the stage lights dim, he’s desperate for your affirmations.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Reader, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99





	Silk

The front door slams shut and clothes are fisted as Haechan has you backed against the wall in your dim apartment, the sight of his dance performance at tonight’s show blazed into your eyelids and your ears ringing with the last echos of the venue. The stroll home through the streets illuminated in city lights proved to be more than frustrating, the heels of his shoes clicking across pavement in time with your rapid heartbeat as you watched his determined profile, wishing more than anything that his hand firmly clasping yours ran elsewhere along your body. 

Frantically toying with the buttons on his black silk shirt in the dark, light switch forgotten, your lips are stolen as he pulls your jaw upward. Fingers pressing into the nape of your neck, he leads you into a deep kiss, wet with tongue and firm with urgency. Finally, you release the last button and your hands roam the expanse of damp skin along his front, from his plush chest down to his fuzzy warm tummy. He breaks his lips away from yours to pull down your tight skirt until you shimmy it off, his warm mouth sucking at your inner thigh, his tongue drawing designs across your skin as he fumbles with your boots. You grab him by the collar of his shirt in order to urge him upwards again, only to be met with a devilish little grin from below before he kisses the tiny bow on your lingerie and moves his way upward. Frantically fingering the waistline of his tight black jeans, your hands are tantalizingly close to the hardness beneath the fabric straining at the seams. 

“You looked so, so good on stage tonight.” Roaming hands, rough shoves, and hot skin leave sensations in the darkness. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you." 

"You think I looked good? Really?” He’s breathless, his hands at your waist running up your body to find solace in the roots of your hair, twisting and tangling. “Me?”

A passing car shines headlights through the window of your apartment, briefly revealing the glimmer of his hooded eyes gazing down on you. Your hand at his tummy rubs in circles, his happy trail and smooth skin creating textures beneath your knuckles as other restless fingertips dip into the valleys of his collarbones. When you palm his hardness through the rough fabric, his lips slide off yours, uncentered, dragging saliva across your cheek, a groan rumbling within his bare chest beneath your hand. The tranquility of the still, quiet late night hours allow his gasps and bitten whines to permeate the silence. He’s a masterpiece, on-stage a collected performer, off-stage a responsive and eager lover. 

You speak in rushed gasps as his grip on your waist threatens suffocation. “All I’ve been thinking about all night is wanting you all over me." 

Thoughts of you craving him sends a fog over his vision and a rush in his blood. The percussive tap of your nail against the teeth of his zipper sends electric shocks coursing through him, jolting him into action to unzip himself and peel back his jeans and boxers just enough to release his cock from its confines. He strokes himself, his eyes swimming, distributing precum along his length before sinking his fingertips into your sides and lifting you up the wall, your shocked yelp cut short by his lips on yours. His hand slides along your thigh as your legs wrap around his waist, his hips pressing firmly into yours to pin you to the wall. You gasp aloud around his mouth as he adjusts you higher, angling so that his hardness presses right against the wetness of your lingerie, the friction setting your nerves alight. 

As he ruts roughly against you, he fills the space between you with heated grunts. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you grip him for stability, fighting against gravity. Your arms slip on the silk of his shirt, grasping the fabric, and he heaves you up the wall again. His forehead presses to yours, his voice hesitant. "Do you… do you want me?” He gulps and thrusts. “Tell me you want me.”

“Yes, yes, I want you, only you.” In response his hips falter and his cock twitches against the lace of your lingerie. Again you slip against his silk shirt and hurriedly slide your fingers beneath his collar to run your hands down his back, seeking better traction, the sensation of his damp muscles compounding on the brush of silk across your arms. Between the elusive texture of the fabric around you and his sweat-slicked, tense muscles, you can barely keep a hold of this man who is fluidity personified. The clutching of your fingertips and digging of your nails into the broadness of his shoulders urges him to heave you upward again until finally you are perched atop his hips against the wall, stable and safe, welcoming his warm embrace. 

The improved angle allows for him to reach his hand around your thigh to move your lingerie to the side, sliding his length along your folds, the glide coursing waves of bliss through both of you. The head of his cock repeatedly presses into your clit at an even, steady pace that has you floating and whining. “Hyuck, please, more.” He removes himself from the crook of your neck to look you straight in the eyes, sincerity and devotion adorning his features as another car passes, shrouding his glistening features and patchy stage makeup in dim dancing shadows. The intent of his gaze is an inquiry, verifying that you are truly his and that the sight before his eyes of your flushed cheeks, cascading hair, and begging mouth is truly real. 

“Hyuck,” at the needy tone of your voice, his cock grinds against your folds again, “Hyuck, I want you,” and again, “Please, I’ve been waiting so long,” and again, “Hyu-” and your plea turns into a choked whimper as he pushes his head into your heat, agonizingly slowly. His breathing is labored, his arms flexed, his eyes fierce with determination. Your warmth and wetness surrounding him has him tense and quivering before he relinquishes his own self-control and begins to pump into you with strong, sure strokes. For every movement, he shoves you up and down the wall, your hair mussing and clumping against the surface.

Only he can fuck you this way, the ability of a dancer to hold you steady and upright with his broad shoulders, but also snap his hips into you with isolated precision, his fluid torso flexing rhythmically with unmatched stamina. For every thrust, every slight movement, the silky fabric of his shirt slides down his shoulders in languid fragments, slowly revealing his lean back muscles into which you dig your fingertips. The silky fabric collects at his elbows and around your feet hooked behind his back, swaying through the air with the rhythm he sets. 

Tossing his head back, he lets out a high-pitched whine, his hair bouncing with movement, and you’re inspired to grasp the strands of his bangs and pull them back. With furrowed eyebrows and spit-stained lips, he soundlessly mouths out, “Feels so good,” and opens his eyes enough to take in your appearance before him, the visual of you open and desperate for him sending him higher. “I- I need you to look all f-fucked-out and pretty for me,” He stumbles over his words as he tries to maintain control of the situation, but he’s slowly coming undone and his nerves start to sing. “Can you do that for me?" With each motive thrust, your grip in his hair clenches and he releases short open-mouthed gasps. 

Your hand sifts through his locks until you have a firm purchase on the meat of his jaw, turning his head to the side to murmur in his ear, "You already had me wet two hours ago at the venue.” Eyes opening in surprise, he attempts to turn back with an inquisitive look, hips stuttering, but you continue to hold his jaw in place. “You looked so fucking good up there.” His vulnerable eyes glimmer as he soaks in every word. “So confident, so handsome. God, you’re so perfect." You continue to whisper loving encouragement and praise in his ear until he’s weak at the knees. The sinful noises he releases are in reaction to your words more than the feel of you surrounding him, the warm moist air between you cut by his high whimpers and whines. Every syllable you speak lifts his ego higher. 

His adrenaline spikes with the motivation of your breathless praise and encouragements, decorated with satisfied moans. If only you knew, he thought, exactly how much you drive him crazy. The lustful, aggressive body language of the motion of his hips is a stark contrast to his heartfelt eyes and adoration; his hips release pent-up kinetic energy while his eyes search for greater relief in your blissful expressions. So very eager for your affection, he is astonished and elated by your desire for him. An oncoming surge of overwhelming emotion overtakes him, plummeting him into a realm of mindlessly seeking his own high, getting off at the sheer thought of being loved. 

Testosterone courses through his system, dissolving him into a grunting and groaning feisty mess. Sweat beads at his hairline as his fingertips grasp at your thighs, but in all of his damp fervor, your legs begin to slide down his skin and give out from their grasp around him. He swiftly clutches the underside of your thigh in order to open you wider against the wall, sourcing unknown strength for a dancer used and spent by the stage. Your shirt snags behind you, revealing a breast into the darkness of the open air, and Hyuck wastes no time in attaching his plump lips to the soft flesh, sucking a trail through the valley of your chest up to your neck. He nips and sucks at your skin with unbridled fervor, and you can’t find it within you to hold back your cracked moans. The new angle of your leg pinned up by his strong hands has you climbing toward your peak, but the final blow comes in the form of his gaze meeting yours, his eyes searing with unmatched confidence and power to behold. You come in a flurry of lust, releasing around him as he continues to drive into you with steady strength. 

He’s so attractive like this, aggressively desperate, eagerly seeking his peak, instinctively grasping at your skin anywhere and everywhere he can. Your fucked-out expression and gasps for air have him craving release, inspired by the notion of being your pride. As he approaches his climax, his whines and cries become sharper, hoarser, louder. The bridge of his nose crinkles as he breathes through bared teeth, eyebrows furrowing in concentration and eyes shut tight. His body snaps as he drives out the ride of his orgasm, arms shaking with exertion and nose pressing into your cheek. As his cock throbs with each shot of his cum, his whimpers and gasps are muffled into your temple, lips sliding along your ear. 

Taking a moment to float back down to reality, he slowly pulls out and lowers you down one leg at a time. Regarding your disheveled appearance and trembling hands, he holds you as you adjust your wobbly balance. He finds you endearing like this, he thinks, as he watches you study the placement of your feet alongside his boots, your fingers twisting into the moist silk covering his arms in an attempt to gain stability. Returning to your temple, he sinks his nose into your hair and breathes in with deep shaking breaths, running his fingers through the messy locks and holding you closely. Your sweet scent calms him into a state of serenity and his breathing evens. Lifting your eyes, you study his expression in the dark: messy hair, smeared makeup, and bitten red lips. Despite it, he is pure gentility, vulnerable tenderness, and as another car shines their passing lights across your apartment, his expression softens into warm adoration, a smile forming on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3\. Let me know what you think! Feedback welcome. : )
> 
> Crossposted from [ d-nghy-ck.tumblr.com ].


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